


Fathers' Day

by Ark



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Completely Unabashed Fluff, Established Relationship, Kid!Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ark/pseuds/Ark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s their first Father’s Day as a family that Fantine will remember, argues Grantaire, who is a daily reader of blogs on child development, so they decide to observe it. They go to the Central Park Zoo. The sun complies with their plans by shining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fathers' Day

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hey on [tumblr](http://et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com/), babies.

It’s their first Father’s Day as a family that Fantine will remember, argues Grantaire, who is a daily reader of blogs on child development, so they decide to observe it. They go to the Central Park Zoo. The sun complies with their plans by shining.

Excited, Fantine swings on their hands for half the walk through the park, then sits on Enjolras’ shoulders for the rest of the way. Her sneakered feet beat against his chest as Grantaire describes the wondrous sights that lie ahead.

The penguins have their own special cold house, he tells her, and the polar bear has a swimming pool. Grantaire does an excellent impression of a seal catching a fish, and mimics the bark they make while Fantine’s eyes widen and Enjolras slow-claps. By the time they reach the gate Fantine is slipping down from his shoulders to bolt ahead.

“She’s going to want a seal now,” Enjolras says to Grantaire.

Grantaire takes his hand. “We could get her one. She’ll be the only kid in New York who—”

“Father! Papa! Hurry up! I see a sign for a lion!” Where Fantine got _Father_ they’ll never know, but it has been Enjolras’ designation since she could pronounce it, and Grantaire, _Papa_ , her first word, finds it endlessly charming. At four, her vocabulary has gone from precocious to expansive, and she sounds like both of them mixed up together, says Cosette – imposing like Enjolras, and inquisitive, like Grantaire, a force of nature with curly blond pigtails.

She has both of them wrapped around her pinky finger, as evidenced by the way Grantaire reverses plans for a seal and says, “Or we could consider having a real conversation about getting her a pet, if she likes the big cats, and—”

“We’ve talked about this, not until she’s old enough to assume responsibility.”

“Parrots!” shrieks Fantine in delight, pointing to a cage by the gate, where bright-plumaged birds are arrayed.

“Let’s at least wait and see which animals she prefers,” Enjolras hedges, not wanting to argue today.

Grantaire smiles at him sideways. “She prefers them all, because she’s brilliant. Maybe she’ll want to be a veterinarian – they have to know even more than regular doctors, you know. It’s a much more competitive field.”

“Now you want her in veterinary school, when last week it was home-schooling to prevent her from being ‘corrupted by the system’ —”

“I’m going in without you,” announces Fantine, marching through the gate.

Chagrined, they follow. Enjolras buys the tickets and a visitor’s bracelet with a penguin charm for Fantine, so they go to see the penguins first. They’re secretly Enjolras’ favorite – he admires their tenacity and determination – and he’s thrilled to watch his daughter’s face pressed to the frosty glass, gasping at how fast they dive and swim.

“They can’t fly like the parrots do, in the air, but they fly under water,” says Fantine. Enjolras wants to sweep her into a hug for that, but settles for a squeezing her shoulder. Then Grantaire is leaning against him in an elated swoon.

“Maybe she’ll be a Nobel prize-winning research scientist instead,” muses Grantaire. “Or a poet. The Nobel Laureate kind.”

“What’s a Nobel?” Fantine wants to know.

“Your future, baby,” sighs Grantaire.

“Papa is only joking, Fantine. A Nobel is a sort of award. He’s sure you’ll win many awards, like the gold star you got in playgroup for good sportsmanship,” Enjolras explains.

“Sportswomanship,” corrects Fantine.

“Oh, my God, you are your mother’s child,” Grantaire crows. “The hand on the hip, just so, Enjolras, did you see—”

But Enjolras is beaming. “Let’s say sportspersonship. You’re right, Fantine, I should have said that in the first place.”

Fantine, with Grantaire for a father, never drops a line of questioning. “But why is a Nobel a prize?”

“Mr. Nobel was a man who made very important inventions,” Enjolras tells her. “One of them is called dynamite, and it causes big explosions. Lots of people have used Mr. Nobel’s inventions in useful ways. But many other people have been hurt by them. So Mr. Nobel decided to establish a special prize for those who do work that benefits everyone on Earth. He wanted to balance out the bad things that happened, by awarding scientists and artists and writers and doctors and peace-makers, people who make the world better.”

“Oh,” says Fantine, nodding sagely. “That seems fair.”

“Maybe a diplomat or special U.N. envoy,” says Grantaire in Enjolras’ ear.

They go to see the polar bears, a huge hit, and spend a long time explaining zebras. The massive seal tank is at the center of the park and they troop towards it alongside the other families when the keeper sounds the call for feeding time.

This time Fantine climbs up onto Grantaire’s shoulders for the best view, since Grantaire likes the seal-show nearly as much as the children and risks the splash of the front row. From the side of the tank Enjolras watches his family while they watch the seals, and thinks that he’s never smiled so much in a day.

“It’s a good look on you,” says a close-by voice, and he turns to grin even wider at Cosette, who backed Grantaire in the push for the zoo. They were supposed to meet her by the penguin house after lunch, but he isn’t surprised that she’s early and found him and found him out. She’s been able to read Enjolras’ mind since college, and it’s never not uncanny. “Before you met Grantaire you never used to smile at all.”

“I _smiled_ ,” Enjolras protests, wrapping her in a loose, one armed hug.

“Under duress,” says Cosette. She follows Enjolras’ gaze to the stands. “Have we bought a seal yet?”

“Grantaire is googling extra-large bathtubs when he thinks I’m not looking.” Enjolras shakes his head.

“You could at least consider a cat,” Cosette starts.

“Not you too. Did they put you up to this?”

“Fantine is four years old, Enjolras. You can show her how to set out food, and she can help with the litter box. It’s not rocket science.”

“Don’t let Grantaire hear that, he’ll want her in rocket science—”

“Actually,” says Cosette, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Space Camp. She’s not old enough yet, of course, but it’s a fine investment in a young girl’s educational —”

“ _Space Camp?_ ” Is Enjolras the only one aware that his daughter, while advanced for her age, is still a four-year-old, with surprisingly complex narratives concerning My Little Ponies but her foremost concerns nonetheless remaining _My Little Ponies_? They want her to have Nobels and cats and Space Camps, and she’s only just starting to discover who she is. “She’s practically still a baby. She was a toddler yesterday.”

But, Christ, is this who he is? Does he sound as nostalgic and overbearingly over-protective as he thinks he does? He swore he wouldn’t be like this, has always wanted Fantine to find her own way, strong and independent of them from the beginning.

Cosette’s eyebrow lifts, knowing. “She’s growing up, Enjolras. It’ll be much better for you all if you let her.” Cosette has more than earned the right to advise on early childhood concerns. She is a) an expert by dint of too much personal experience and b) Fantine is her flesh and blood too, and she considers her surrogate daughter’s interests with nearly the same intensity that they do. Enjolras nods, trying to process and trying not to frown, not with Fantine coming back leading Grantaire by the hand, then abandoning him with an ear-piercing shriek at the sight of Cosette.

“Aunt Cosette! Aunt Cosette! Did you see the seals? The brown one with the long whiskers is my favorite. Papa says his name is Mr. Mustachio, but I don’t know how he knows that. Papa says he can speak the same language that seals do, and that he had a long talk with Mr. Mustachio, but I don’t know if I should believe him.”

Cosette has swept the girl into her arms for a whirl of a hug before setting her down. They have the same sweet, heart-shaped face, the same big blue eyes and generous mouths: they have never kept it hidden from Fantine that Cosette is her birth-mother, and the ‘Aunt’ appellation is Cosette’s choice.

“The perfect distance,” she had said, upon agreeing to carry their child. For Fantine is truly all of theirs: they do not know if Enjolras or Grantaire is her biological father, and hope never to have to know – those tests would only come about in the case of a medical emergency.

They decided not to know. It is unimportant. She is simply theirs, and the product of them both, smart and stubborn and vibrant and mischievous and fair-minded. Like Cosette she is impetuous and passionate and kind. She has golden hair that curls, and could be Enjolras’, but she has a button of a nose like Grantaire. Her name is Cosette’s mother’s. The suggestion came from her godfather Valjean and after that any other name was out of the running. This disappointed several other godparents, of which Fantine has an ungodly amount, who had also submitted names.

(The godparent affair went like this: “Look, there’s no, like, written rule inscribed in stone somewhere about how many godparents a baby can have, Enjolras. Courfeyrac won’t talk to you again if he’s not one, and I already told you I _promised_ Eponine, like, a century ago, and we both agreed on Combeferre. If we leave out Jehan and Joly and Bossuet and Feuilly and Bahorel and Marius, what are they going to think?” So Fantine has ten godparents and too many presents on Christmas morning).

Enjolras snaps out of his reverie to a conversation about whether or not Grantaire can, in fact, speak to seals, with Grantaire pleading his case in a series of barks. He knows they make for a nontraditional family unit, what with Grantaire barking while his hand rests comfortably slipped in Enjolras’ back pocket, Cosette smiling and Fantine giggling at the center, a Cosette in miniature – but they are a perfect unit too.

“Let’s go find some ice cream,” Cosette says to Fantine in a conspiratorial tone, since both of them know quite well desserts are usually saved for after dinner, and it’s barely lunchtime. “I bet if they have chocolate your dads will want some, too.”

Fantine looks up at once, imploringly, and it’s a special day, so they nod in tandem. She makes a grab for Cosette’s hand and they set off, talking a mile a minute on the subject of lions, the remaining unseen sight.

Enjolras watches them go. Then he takes Grantaire’s hand from his pocket and laces their fingers together. “Mr. Mustachio? Really?”

“It’s harmless fantasy. We agreed to preserve the Tooth Fairy for her sense of whimsy, didn’t we? She can believe her Papa talks to seals for a day. Let me be a seal-talker.”

Enjolras gives him a kiss only just chaste enough for a family zoo, catching Grantaire by surprise. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it like, really, you’re really out of your mind, and I really love you.”

“I really love you, too.” Grantaire palms something from his pocket, then slips a bracelet to match Fantine’s around Enjolras’ wrist. It has an identical dangling penguin charm. Grantaire knows they are his secret favorite. Enjolras laughs as expected, and will never, ever lose the bracelet. He’ll keep it in top drawers and pockets and on desks, to remember today. Today, he won’t take it off. “Happy Father’s Day, Enjolras.”

“Happy Father’s Day, Grantaire.” He leans in for another kiss.

“What’d you get me?” Grantaire wants to know, bright-eyed.

“If she likes the lions,” says Enjolras, “I’m thinking she’ll want to help pick out the cat with you. We’ll go to an animal shelter, of course, and teach her about the importance of—”

Grantaire bends him backwards in an exuberant, movie-star embrace. By the time they move apart they can see Fantine skipping towards them with two ice-cream cones in her hands.

“Father! Papa! They had chocolate!”


End file.
